The Beast and the Bell
by MelodyPond77
Summary: Two days ago, she wouldn't have been able to tell you where she was going to get her next paycheck from, and now, suddenly, she had a job that paid well and provided free room and board to do practically nothing, it seemed. Her life had been turned upside down, and she didn't know quite how to react.


**OTP Competition: Beauty and the Beast (Round 3)**

 **WC: 1,988**

You know, one day I will actually write a fic for this competition without needing an extension.

Today, however, is not that day.

* * *

"Call me Wood," he grunted as Katie stepped inside the house. It was grand, obviously wealthy, but the man who owned it was ragged, with shaggy hair and an unshaven face. His eyes were hidden behind dark glasses, even though they were inside, and everywhere he stepped, dust puffed from the carpets.

It was a very lonely house.

"You can go anywhere in the house except the West Wing. Those are my quarters. If I catch you in there, you're fired, understand?" Wood grumped, pointing vaguely towards a corridor leading from the foyer to what Katie supposed was another set of rooms. He gestured towards the other side, which appeared to be a similar looking corridor. "This is the East Wing. That's where you'll find the dining room, rec room and study. You may go anywhere in there as well."

He stumped forwards to the stairs, gripping the railing tightly as he trudged up the steps. For a young man, he moved slowly, and Katie followed him carefully, worried he would topple backwards and die before she even got her first paycheck.

"And up here are your rooms. Well, technically they're the guest rooms, but I don't get many guests anymore. So you can stay here. The servants have made them up for you. I do hope they're to your liking," he said, but his tone spoke otherwise.

Katie nodded and set her bag down on the giant bed. She peeked out the room to see a smaller set of stairs leading up in the corner. "What's up there?"

"The small stairs? Those are the servants quarters. I have three. Madam Pomfrey, my cook and general head of house, who takes care of me and anyone else staying in this house; Charlie Weasley, who is the grounds keeper, and Angelina Johnson, who is my maid. You will be formally introduced to them later. If there are no other questions, I shall leave you here."

He didn't pause for her to ask any, simply heading straight for the door. There he paused for a moment, turning back briefly. "Oh, and Miss Bell, do not let your curiosity get the better of you in this situation. You were hired to be my companion, and only on doctor's orders. I expect you to do as I wish and not ask questions. Dinner will be served sharply at 6. I expect you to be on time. Understood?"

She somehow squeaked out a "I understand" before he was gone.

Once her intimidating new boss left, she sank onto the bed in exhaustion. Two days ago, she wouldn't have been able to tell you where she was going to get her next paycheck from, and now, suddenly, she had a job that paid well and provided free room and board to do practically nothing, it seemed. Her life had been turned upside down, and she didn't know quite how to react.

Katie thought back over the past week's events. With her father ill in the hospital, she'd had to leave her internship at the hospital (oh the irony) to get an actual, paying job to support her family. When her friend Alicia told her about a rich young man looking for a live-in "companion", she was skeptical as to why. But so far, it seemed she was here for...something, but no one would tell her why.

A knock on her door stirred her from her reverie, and a lithe girl poked her head inside. "You must be Katie. I'm Angelina. Alicia told me about you!"

Her voice was cheerful and bright, but Katie thought it sounded strained, as if Angelina expected Katie to be as unhappy and ornery as their boss.

"Hello, Angelina. It's good to meet you! If you don't mind, can you tell me exactly what I'm supposed to be doing here? No one's told me anything," Katie said, and Angelina glanced around before closing the door behind her and sitting on the end of the bed.

"Well, I'm really not supposed to talk about it, but seeing as you're a part of the staff now, you should probably know. Mr. Wood isn't really that old; he's actually only 25, a year older than I, but you wouldn't guess it from how he carries himself. The sad thing is, only a year ago he was an entirely different person! After his accident - well, he'll tell you about that, I'm sure. But anyways, it changed him. And his doctor doesn't think he should be living alone like he does, always shut away, so he ordered him a dose of human companionship. I think that's why you're here. He just needs someone to keep him out of his head."

Katie nodded. She could understand that. Angelina stood and went to the door. "Oh, and one last thing. Don't treat him any differently, just because he's had an accident. People usually do when they find out, and he hates it. So just, don't, alright?"

Katie nodded. "Understood."

* * *

She'd been here a week, and each day was the same.

Wood would get up in the morning and stumble out of his bed and into the kitchen, where Madam Pomfrey would serve him a plate of food. He'd pick at it, as Katie looked on over her morning cup of coffee, and then he would stumble into the living room. She would join him there after her own breakfast, and they would sit in silence for a while until he'd demand she read to him or something. After lunch, he'd banish her to her room while he "got his work done". Dinners were always at 6, and always silent.

And tonight was going much the same. Katie was sick of it already, sick of this job, sick of this life, sick of the fact that she had to stay here to keep her family supported while her father was in hospital. Wood sat sullenly at the other end of the table, clumsily trying to eat and spilling food all over himself in the process. He was the messiest eater she'd ever seen.

She couldn't take this anymore.

"What happened to you?" she asked bluntly, and the spoon stopped halfway to his mouth as his face, still clad in dark glasses, lifted towards hers.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you wander around your gorgeous home with a sullen look on your face, you never take care of yourself in anyway, and you can't be much older than I am, but you act like you're a pathetic old man. Since I've been here to "work" for you, all you've asked me to do is read you the newspaper before you claim you've met your daily requirement of 'companionship' and send me to my room like a child, which I'm not. So, I'm asking you, what happened to make you this way?"

He was aghast, and then his face turned red with anger. "I thought I told you not to ask questions and do as your told," he spat out, scowling.

She smirked, satisfied to get a reaction from him. "I'm not good at directions. So tell me, what turned you into a grumpy old sourpuss?"

"Who told you? The staff aren't supposed to be talking to you about anything. It's up to my discretion what I tell you!"

She leaned forwards. "So you admit there's something to tell? Finally you admit it! And it really doesn't take any gossip to be able to figure out something's wrong; I worked in the hospital for six months, so I can recognize the signs of illness right away. And you, Mr. Wood, are depressed."

He leaned back in his seat. "Oh, am I? Thank you for that astute observation," he said drily.

"Why, yes, you are. Drawn curtains, dim lighting, poor hygiene... they're all signs of depression."

"And what do you suggest, _Dr._ Bell?" he said, snarky smile on his face, and she grinned in return.

"Well, I thought we should go outside and play one of my favorite sports. A nice game of soccer," she said, pulling the soccer ball from where she'd hidden it before dinner.

The smile on his face disappeared. "I don't like soccer," he said stonily, then stood from the table and walked out the door.

"Wait. Wait! Wood, hold on!" she yelped, scrambling out of her chair, but by the time she'd gotten untangled from her chair and the soccer ball, he was gone. She ran into the foyer, hoping to catch him, but the door to the West Wing was already swinging shut.

She gulped. She needed to make this right.

Without further hesitation, she pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the dark corridor.

* * *

She finally found him in a wooden paneled room, covered in posters and newspaper articles of the soccer team Puddlemere United. At first she thought he was a fanatic, but when she realized how many trophies were in the room, it all clicked.

Mr. Wood. 25, an accident...

She remembered the papers now, the ones about Oliver Wood, star center forward of Puddlemere, who'd been involved in a car accident a year previously and had gone blind from the resulting head injury.

It couldn't be coincidence. Looking at the handsome photos of the man on the wall, she could vaguely see similarities between them and the ragged man in the armchair before her, but the pitiful state he was in now was nothing like the framed one.

"Mr. Wood? Oliver?" she whispered, kneeling down by where he sat, twirling a beat up soccer ball in his hands.

"How did you know? I did so well at hiding it. Nothing soccer within the main part of the house. I haven't shaved in months, I should be unrecognizable. How did you figure it out?"

She shrugged before remembering he couldn't see it. "I didn't, actually. I just love soccer. I played in college, and it alway helped me feel better. I thought that even if you didn't know how, I could at least teach you that to get your mind of things. Then when I saw the room, I understood. I'm sorry if I brought back bad memories."

His hands gripped the ball tighter. "I'm never going to be able to play again, Katie. I'm blind. That's the truth and there's nothing to it."

She slipped the ball from his hands, backing up a few steps and placing it on the ground. "Oliver Wood, how have you forgotten? Soccer is a team sport. Sure, you've got to know where the goal is to be able to score, but your teammates are there for you. If you've got someone who knows how to play soccer, like me, you can learn again. You just have to find a new angle. Here, put your foot out," she said, and he automatically stuck out his right foot, as if he were preparing to receive a pass. She kicked the ball, bouncing it off the side of his foot, and he grinned. "Look, now you're playing soccer!"

They stayed like that for an hour, simply kicking the ball back and forth, him sitting and her standing.

"Hey, Katie," he finally said, stopping the ball with his foot and finishing their little scrimmage.

"Thank you."

She smiled. Perhaps this job wasn't so bad after all.


End file.
